


Neal vs. the LOLcat

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Humor, LOLcats - Freeform, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9410585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: Neal has a LOLcat. Named Henri.





	1. Neal vs. the LOLcat

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ between October, 2012 and January, 2014 as a series of ficlets.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri wants a snack.

**Neal vs. the LOL Cat**

"Neeeeealz!"

The voice was low, scratchy, in need of a lozenge. Neal turned over in his bed and groaned.

"Neeeeealz!"

Neal buried his head under his pillow.

"Neeeealz!"

Neal sighed and removed the pillow, his bleary eyes seeking out the source of the tiny voice. “WHAT IS IT, LOLCat Henri?”

“Temptayshonnnns! I must haz dem!” As if to punctuate his point, the cat batted at the bright yellow packet of cat treats lying on the floor beside him. Where it had come from, Neal had no idea – he’d swear he’d put them all away on the top most shelf in the kitchen.

“You DO have them,” Neal pointed out.

“Dey R close.”

“Then open them.”

LOLCat Henri batted at them again. “I no got thumbz. Zippy bagz confoundz de kittehs.”

“Well you managed to get them out of the cabinet easily enough,” Neal snitted, though he reluctantly left the warmth of his bed to cross the room and open the bag of treats, dropping a small pile of the tasty morsels on the floor at Henri’s paws.

“Dank U, Nealz,” the cat said as it began to nibble daintily at its late night snack. “U R good manz.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Neal said, crawling back into bed. “You’d better not puke them up in my hat again this time.”

“I tol’ u dat wuz accidentals.”

“You try getting spit-up out of rabbit’s hair felt, Henri.”

“I no haz to. I cat.”

“I guess that about sums up our relationship, then, doesn’t it?” Neal said, closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

The dead mouse left beside his bed the following morning as a thank you was not nearly as appreciated as it was meant.


	2. The Further Adventures of Neal and LOLCat Henri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri grooms himself.

“Why for U stare, Nealz?”

“Not staring, just watching.” Neal continued to marvel at the calm way in which his cat groomed himself, somehow able to flick his entire tongue upside down so that he could get at the fur on his own throat and chest. Henri’s paw flexed as it bobbed up and down in the air, giving him added leverage. 

Neal pillowed his head on both of his hands as Henri started in on his belly. “You know, if you’d let me brush you without dancing away all the time, you wouldn’t have to do that so often,” he pointed out helpfully.

“I cat. I do.”

“Yeah, but maybe there’d be less yacking up of hairballs. On the antique Turkish rugs. I’m just saying.”

Henri fixed Neal with a baleful, golden eye and then rocked backwards as he groomed his own back, his rear paws digging slightly into Neal’s hip, pushing his small body away bit by bit. “You should maybe watch out, Henri,” Neal warned. “You’re awfully close to the edge of the mattress there.”

“I good,” Henri assured him, eyes closed as he continued his grooming ritual.

“Seriously, it’s closer than you –“ Neal reached out his hand as if he could catch the cat before he rolled too far back, unbalanced, and fell from the bed to the floor with a solid _THUMP._ The look in his eyes had been, of course, priceless. Neal rolled over to make sure the cat was OK, opening his mouth to speak.

“I look 4 mousie,” Henri interrupted, non-plussed.

“I see, so you _meant to_ fall off the bed, did you?”

“No fall. Leapingks.”

Neal unsuccessfully attempted to suppress a smile. “I see. You know, you might want to work on your form then, because from my perspective, it wasn’t quite so graceful.”

“No one like smart-arsed hoomin, Nealz,” Henri said with an indignant swish of his tail and then leapt back onto the bed. He head-butted against Neal’s hand until Neal was forced to rub lightly at his scalp with his thumb. Henri started purring. 

“Ah, sorry. I thought we were dialoguing.”

Henri hooked his paw around Neal’s wrist and pulled his hand in closer, so that Neal would start to scratch at the cat’s chin. “Less talkingks. More rubbingks.”

“Sure thing, Henri.”


	3. Neal and Henri Go to Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five ways Neal and Henri negotiated their sleeping arrangements.

**1.**

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Henri ignored Neal and closed his eyes as he answered. “I cat. I sleep.”

“Not on my bed, you don’t. I don’t want any fur on my pillow.”

“Furz no problem.”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem for you, but I’d rather not have it in my face.”

“U learnz, Nealz.”

“Come on, Henri, I bought you a nice, heated bed. It’s over there.”

“On floor?” Henri asked, opening a single eye to stare at Neal condescendingly. “U iz funneh.”

“I’m going to be late to the office – you know Peter’s not going to be too happy with this as an excuse.”

“Iz no my problemz.”

“Fine.” Neal stepped forward and picked the cat up with both hands, holding him at arm’s length so he wouldn’t get any fur on his suit. He took him across the room and deposited him in the heated cat bed he’d dropped sixty bucks on the day before. “See? Microfiber – nice and soft.”

“Unacceptabuhls,” Henri sniffed, stepping away from it and shaking his paws as if he’d stepped in something nasty.

Neal sighed. “You’re just going to jump back onto my bed as soon as I leave, aren’t you?”

“I cat. I entitled.”

Neal, feeling the pressure to leave or risk being late, commented impatiently, “Why am I not surprised to hear you say that? All right, but at least stay away from the pillow, huh? See you later.” 

Neal wished he didn’t always feel so defeated when dealing with his pet.

 

**2.**

It was the coldness of the paw, more so than its position directly _on his eyelid,_ that woke Neal. “What the –“ 

“Move coverzez,” Henri demanded.

“Gwuh?” Neal asked blearily.

“Under coverzez iz warm.”

“You got that right.”

Henri pressed one pink-toed appendage over Neal's lips. 

“Mmmwhere’s zat paw been?” Neal mumbled, not really wanting the answer. 

“Move coverzez?” Henri asked, ignoring him. 

Neal reluctantly complied, raising the covers with his left arm as Henri burrowed underneath. He soon fell back to sleep with all four of Henri’s cold paws pressed against his chest.

 

**3.**

“Ow,” Neal said, hissing against the pain. “Owowow.” He tried his hardest to persevere, to remain motionless.

“Why for U owz?” Henri asked, not stopping what he was doing, but still curious.

“You know I sleep without a shirt, Henri – when you make biscuits on my chest, it kind of hurts.”

“Nekkid hoomins no efficient.”

“I agree that having a fur coat is a much better way to face life, but it is what it is.”

“Tiny manz much furrier. No complainingks.”

“I don’t want to hear why you know what Moz looks like without his shirt on. But if you’d rather live with him...”

“I Nealz cat.”

“OK then, so can you move the party to my hip then, maybe? Less impact where there are pajamas.”

 

**4.**

_SKRITCH – skritch – SKRITCH – skritch_

“Henri, what is that noise?” Neal asked before he’d even opened his eyes.

“No ting.” 

_SKRITCH – skritch – SKRITCH – skritch_

“You had better not be scratching at the comforter again.”

“It needz improvingks.”

Neal leaned over and switched on the bedside lamp, blinking at the sudden illumination. “While I appreciate we have a difference of opinion on the aesthetic appeal of snagged toile, I’m afraid I must pull rank. Stop it.”

Henri blinked up at him. 

“Besides, I bought you a $500 cat tree – made from a real tree, I might add – why aren’t you using it?”

Henri looked at the cat tree and then casually began licking at his right front paw. 

“Henri?”

“It no smellz.”

“You don’t like the way it smells? Want me to sprinkle catnip on it or something?”

“It no smellz liek U,” Henri corrected him, putting his paw down and staring at Neal unblinkingly.

“Oh. Well, I don’t… I’m not sure how to make that happen, so…”

Henri leaped on top of the covers and rubbed his chin against Neal's, pushing so hard against him he nearly came off his own feet.

“Aw, come here,” Neal said, lying on his back and hauling the cat onto his chest and seating him there. “What am I going to do with you? I really don’t want you to ruin my things.” Neal rubbed idly at Henri’s left ear with a knuckle

“I sorry, Nealz. Snuggle tiemz?”

“Sure, Henri.” Neal dropped his hand and let Henri rub his face against his, his purring reaching the volume of the average buzzsaw. He fell asleep with the cat’s tiny head nestled under his chin.

 

**5.**

Neal woke in the middle of the night to a strange sensation. Without moving, he surveyed himself and realized there was an unfamiliar weight against the back of his neck, and a slight tugging. 

“Henri, what are you doing back there?”

Henri flexed his claws and Neal felt them dig in slightly around his neck and between his shoulder blades. “I big spoon.”

“But can you stop grooming me? It’s kind of creeping me out.”

Henri sighed. “Hoomins 2 particularrr.” 

Nevertheless, he stopped licking at Neal's hair and settled with his face resting in the space between Neal's neck and the pillow, his nose a cold, wet spot that was entirely too shocking given its size. Neal tried hard to stop himself from reacting, fearing the tiny, warm bundle would go away.

A typical night for Neal and Henri.


	4. Neal and Henri vs. Superstorm Sandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal and Henri spend a tense night during a hurricane

”Nealz.”

“Henri?”

”De weendz iz blowingk.”

“Yes, there’s a hurricane coming. Come away from the glass doors.”

”Dere is a lot of weendz.”

“Haven’t you ever been in a storm before?”

”Iz dark cloudz. And big rainz.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

”Sheer scope of stormingks puts purpose of life in doubt. Henri feelz insignificants and meaningkless in face of it.”

“That’s uh, mighty absurdist of you Henri.”

“I cat. I read Camus.”

“Naturally. Hey, how about we have some dinner before we lose power? I’ve got some nice sushi over here.”

“Iz sallmone belly?”

“Only the best.”

\----

”Nealz.”

“Gwuh?”

”Nealz. Wakies.”

“What? What is it? Is everything OK?”

”De weendz iz blowingk.”

“I know, it’s scary. Here, come under the covers.”

“I cat. I no scared.”

“Of course not. Maybe I am, though, did you think of that?”

“U iz scared?”

“It’s a Monster storm, right? I wouldn’t mind a bit of furry comfort. Plus it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

“Needy hoomin.”

“Go ahead: judge. You gonna come under here or what? It’s cold with no power and no heat.”

“I do.”

“There we go – OK, COLD PAWS!”

“Prrrrrrrrr, Nealz, Prrrrrrrrrrr. Prrrrrrrrr, prrrrrrrrr, prrrrrrrrr.”

“I find that oddly soothing.”

“You no scared nao?”

“I am fortified.”

“Iz good 4 stormy nights to have hoomin to watch over. Givez Henri purpose.”


	5. LOLCat Henri vs. the Hurt/Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five ways LOLCat Henri helped Neal recover from an injury.

**1.**

“Come on, buddy, just lean on me – almost there.” 

Neal leaned heavily – more heavily than he wanted – on his friend’s arm as he was helped through the door of his apartment and straight to his bed. He grimaced and sucked in his breath as Peter helped him into the bed; his stitches pulled painfully.

“Easy, now,” Peter murmured softly as he settled Neal in, fussing over the covers and plumping up the pillows. “Hey, you OK?” He asked, once he’d set Neal up with a pitcher of water and meds, his cell phone and Kindle. Neal had been shot in the lower chest while pulling Peter to safety during the course of an operation, and though his lung had been punctured, he would make a full recovery. He had been in the hospital for the last week.

Neal lolled his head on the pillows and smiled up at Peter, though he could barely keep his eyes open. At least the drugs were still working. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

“Come on, what are friends for if not to bring you home from the hospital and drop you off at the airport?”

“Or help you move?”

“That’s only for _very_ good friends.” Peter smiled, but Neal didn’t miss the stress around his eyes – he still felt responsible for Neal's injury. “You want me to stick around for a while? I can call Hughes…”

“I’m fine – I’m just going to sleep all day anyway. June’ll look in on me later.”

“OK, but only if you’re sure. El’ll kill me if you hurt yourself.”

“Even I wouldn’t put you in the path of that train,” Neal kidded. “Go, I’ll be fine. Look, I’m practically asleep.” He sighed heavily – the drugs really were pulling at his consciousness, making him cross-eyed.

“OK. I’ll be by tomorrow for lunch to look in on you.” Peter walked over to the door. “Bye, Neal.”

Neal waved his hand clumsily and the door closed. 

Seconds later, Neal felt the bed move slightly as a ten pound body leapt onto it with a soft _meow._ Neal looked blearily over at his cat, who sat beside his hip, tail wrapped around his feet as if he’d been sitting there for hours. “Hi, Henri. How ya doin’ buddy?” Neal's hand flopped off his belly and he clumsily rubbed the backs of his fingers against the side of the cat’s face.

“U iz here.”

“Yup, ‘m home. Miss me?” Neal lost the fight to keep his eyes open. 

“You gone a week.”

“Wuz in hospital. U see June?”

“De nice lady bring me catnips. She put de tuna juice on de kibblez.”

“She’z bery thoughtfuhls.”

“She no say where U R.”

“U sure? I tol’ her wuz OK.”

“She singz instead. Cole Porter.”

“Dat’s nice.”

Henri prodded Neal with a paw. “U OK?”

“I OK nao. Sooo need sleepingks.”

“You sleep, Nealz. I watch.”

“UR good LOLCat, Henri.”

 

**2.**

Neal woke to Henri licking the tip of his nose incessantly. “Ew, tuna juice.”

“U no wakies.”

“Yeah, well, narcotics will do that to a person.” Neal hauled himself into a sitting position, wincing as his wound pulled. “Cripes, that hurts,” he muttered, reaching for a pain pill and glass of water. 

Henri danced backwards out of his way. When Neal had settled back down, Henri lay down on his own paws, at the far corner of the bed, near Neal's feet. “U smellz bad.”

“Gee, thanks a lot.”

“I mean U smellz liek U bad.”

“Again, thank you.”

Henri shook his head, clearly unable to get his meaning across. “U feelz bad. U not smellz liek Nealz. Makez me want to-” Henri punctuated his sentence with a hiss, his ears lying back against his head.

“I am trying not to be insulted here, Henri.”

Henri sniffed and lowered his eyelids. “U no understandz. Talk later.”

Neal thought that further discussion was probably not going to get him anywhere – Henri had a feline outlook on life, which could seem alien to a person, but it didn’t make his words hurt less.

 

**3.**

Peter stuck his head into Neal's apartment and grinned when he saw his partner sitting upright on the couch, the TV remote in hand. “You’re looking better today!” he said, chipper. He put a bag of food from Neal's favorite deli on the table and came to sit down on the other end of the couch.

“You’re late – thought you said you’d be here at 12:30?” Neal said, turning off the TV. Peter being late was unusual.

“Well, I was _here_ at 12:30, just not in your apartment. I was waylaid.”

Neal looked puzzled. “June?”

“That cat.”

“Henri?”

“He met me at the door, sitting there on the floor with his nose in the air like he owns the place. What is it with the attitude?”

“He’s a cat,” Neal said as if that explained it.

“Anyway, he was looking at me like he’d have killed me if he could. I walk past and he says something under his breath, sounded like, ‘bad lawmanz.’ I couldn’t believe it.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I told him if he had something to say about me, he could say it to my face. You know what he said?”

Neal shook his head, a sense of surprise growing; Henri rarely engaged with anyone that didn’t provide a warm lap, Temptations or both.

“He said I was an utter failure as an agent, that he held me responsible, and if I knew what I was doing you wouldn’t have been injured. Oh, and that my mother clearly didn’t raise me right.”

“Henri said that? To you?” Neal didn’t know whether to laugh or be incredulous, but Peter was clearly upset.

“Not in so many words. He said, ‘U iz bad lawmanz. Nealz iz feel bad. Ur mama kitteh fail.’ You don’t feel that way, do you Neal? That this is my fault?”

“You know I don’t Peter. None of this was anyone’s fault, but you have to see it from Henri’s perspective. All he knew was I disappeared for a week and when I came back, I was hurt. I don’t know – maybe he was just lashing out, trying to attach blame because he felt scared or ineffectual in the situation.” 

“Well, if it was possible to make me feel worse, he sure did.”

“I’m sorry – he was out of line.”

“I think he threatened me!”

“What?”

“He said, ‘I cat. I watch.’ Like, really ominous, you know?”

“Don’t worry about it, Peter – about the only thing he can do is snag your pant leg. I’ll be sure to talk to him.” Neal said, pretending to commiserate with Peter, but inside he knew what Henri really meant: that the cat considered looking out for Neal his personal responsibility. And that made Neal feel warm and a little bit proud. “So: did you bring me some hot corned beef, or what?”

 

**4.**

“Hey there,” Neal greeted Henri as the cat leapt onto the back of the couch later that afternoon. Henri walked along the couch’s edge to settle at Neal's shoulder, rubbing his head against Neal's cheek. “You hungry? Peter brought some whitefish salad.”

Henri huffed delicately in his ear and then started to lick at the corner of Neal's unshaven jaw. “Stoopid lawmanz,” he muttered on a purr.

“That stupid lawman is my friend, Henri. What you said hurt his feelings.”

“I cat. I right.”

“So you think, but there are other perspectives, you know. When I got hurt, I was trying to protect Peter, because there were people trying to kill him. He’s my friend – it’s what we ‘hoomins’ do.”

“He lawmanz. He responsibuhls.”

“Sure, on a certain level you’re right – it’s his job to protect people. And he already felt really bad that I got hurt. You know, he stayed with me for two whole nights so I wouldn’t be alone. Just like you do, though with considerably less invading of my personal space,” Neal said as Henri placed two heavy paws on his shoulder and walked down Neal's torso to settle in his lap.

Henri twisted his head to the side and bared his belly to Neal, who obligingly scratched the soft fur lightly. “U iz better nao?”

“I’m getting there – two more weeks on the couch, then it’s back to work.”

“U smellz better nao. Liek Nealz again.” Henri peered up at Neal, his head almost completely upside down. “Makes me happy.” As if to emphasize the point, he began to purr. 

“I didn’t smell like me before?”

“It bad 2 kittehs you no smellz right. Not home. Not cat.”

“Ah ha,” Neal said, finally understanding – when he’d first gotten home, hospital smells like disinfectant and medicine probably still clung to him. “You consider me a cat now?”

“Iz highest honor kitteh can give.”

“I’m touched, Henri.” Neal smiled broadly down on him, his hand stilling as he did. 

Henri snagged the heel of his thumb with a paw and used it to pull his own face closer to Neal's fingertips. “Less smilingks, moar scratchingks,” he ordered, closing his eyes contentedly.

**5.**

“Neeeealz.”

Neal mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep and turned over, pulling the covers over his head. It had been a week since he’d returned home, he’d been off the heavy pain meds, but he still slept like a rock

Henri, undeterred, hopped up on his hip, walked along his side to stand on his upper arm and claw at the sheets. “Neeeeealz. Wakies.”

“Ten more minutes.”

“Iz tiem for therapeh.”

“It’s not until 9:00.”

“Iz 8:30.”

“Crap.” Neal struggled to get out of the bed, but the cat on top of him made it initially difficult. Henri jumped off him and to the floor. 

Henri preceded Neal as he walked down the hall to the bathroom, tail in the air like a flagpole. He hopped up to the edge of the sink as Neal brushed his teeth. “U floss,” he ordered. 

“No time,” Neal said around a mouthful of toothpaste.

Henri reached out a paw and snagged Neal's pajama pants with a single claw. “Alwayz tiem,” he admonished, and Neal grabbed up the floss from the medicine cabinet with a roll of his eyes. “Healthy fangz meanz healthy kitteh,” he added.

Once dressed, he came out to find Henri trying to drag his gray fedora over the floor to him. He stooped to pick it up and brushed the dust off it, then rubbed the back of his index finger against Henri’s jaw. “You need breakfast?”

“I haz mousie.”

“What was that?”

“I haz kibblez in dish,” Henri said with shifty eyes.

Neal stood. “Remind me to have June call an exterminator.”

“Go Nealz, U B late 2 pulmonologist!”

“Fine,” Neal said, settling his hat on his head and heading for the door. “Wait,” he said, turning back, “‘pulmonologist’ you can say?”

The expression on Henri’s face could have frozen water. “I cat. I learnz. Nao go.”


	6. Neal and LOLCat Henri vs. the Vet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri is at the vet. Neal keeps vigil.

**1.**

Neal alternately paced the waiting area and sat in a plastic chair in the corner, his knee bobbing up and down, unable to keep still. The magazines offered him no distraction, there were no new emails on his phone to take his mind off where he was or why. Other patients and their families that came and went caused a pang in his heart, each furry tail or delicate whisker a reminder of why he was there.

He had brought Henri to the vet for surgery and was beside himself with worry and guilt.

A young woman finally approached, dressed in scrubs adorned with Cavalier King Charles spaniels, and stood in front of him until he noticed her. Neal could feel the blood leave his face as he looked up; her expression told him nothing.

“Sir, we close at 1:00 on Wednesdays.”

“What?”

“We close at 1:00 on Wednesdays, so that the doctors can perform surgeries. You’re going to have to leave now.”

“I… But…” Neal’s eyes went wide as he realized what she was saying. He couldn’t leave Henri, he just couldn’t.

“We’ll take really good care of your cat, I promise,” she said, her voice soothing. “But we’re not like a people hospital – you’ll have to leave now.”

Neal rose from the chair, turned to leave, then turned back to her, indecision plain on his face. “Could you tell him I waited? I promised him –“

Her expression went all tolerant and condescending. “Of course. Now please…” She gently tried to guide Neal to the door.

“Can you leave these for him?” Neal asked, pulling a packet of toy mice from his pocket – the kind that were infused with catnip. “He really likes the pink ones.”

“Sure thing.” She took them from him and then patted him on the shoulder, all the while pushing him toward the exit.

Suddenly, Neal found himself on the sidewalk, peering up at the sky, and wondering when it had started to rain.

 

**2.**

Neal felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and looked up; Peter stood above him, holding out a cup of coffee. “Here, if you won’t eat, at least have something hot to drink, buddy.”

“Thanks,” Neal murmured, gratefully taking the proffered cup, which he noticed was from Starbucks, and not the office coffee. With nowhere to go that would ease his mind over what Henri was going through, Neal had wound up back at the Bureau, and was now set up in Peter’s office, sitting in one of the guest chairs.

“He’ll pull though, he’s a brave little toaster,” Peter assured him and Neal smiled wanly. Peter sat at his desk and started going through his emails, but he kept a constant eye on his distraught CI.

“Hey, look who I found.” Neal looked up to see Jones had Moz in tow.

“Moz, you came all the way up here?” For Moz, the well-known paranoiac, to enter the FBI offices of his own free will was not a small thing. Neal felt a warm rush all over his body; he’d hug his friend if he thought it’d be welcome.

“Hey man, we’ve all been there – a beloved pet… “ he couldn't – or wouldn’t finish. “All I know is, if it was Estelle, I’d be beside myself.” He took off his glasses and began polishing them on the tail of his shirt.

Jones made his way further into the office to give Moz room, taking a seat at the small, round conference table in the corner. None of them spoke for several minutes, supporting Neal silently in his hour of crisis.

“Hey, Jones, what’re you doing in there?” Diana said, noticing the man sitting in the corner as she walked past the office. “We’ve got that conference call with the AUSA on the Pederson case in five minutes.”

“I’m hangin’ with Neal,” he answered, though he did get up – he’d need to fetch his files and notes before they began their call.

“Henri is at the vet,” Moz reminded her. “Having surgery,” he added, _sotto voce._

“Oh, that’s today? Cool.”

Three sets of eyes regarded her with shocked expressions, then Peter eyed Neal significantly, mugging at her to try to get her to be sensitive to his state of mind.

“Oh my God, _men_!” Diana exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “You all get like this when this happens. He’s having his cat neutered – it is not like it’s the end of the world!”

All four of them flinched, and Peter’s hands reflexively moved to protect his crotch, then he moved them away, embarrassed. Neal looked up, wounded.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him, not sounding sorry at all. “But statistically, he’ll be better off, you know that, right? He’ll live a longer, happier life. With less spraying around the litter box. It’s a win-win as far as I can tell.”

“But still, Di,” Jones pleaded, rising to stand beside Neal, he put a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Have a little compassion for a brother in crisis.”

She left when Neal pulled out his phone and started scrolling through kitten pictures, shaking her head in disbelief when Peter exclaimed, “Oh, the one with the big ball of yarn – I love that one!”

 

**3.**

Neal set his soft-sided duffel-style cat carrier down on the floor and unzipped the end to let Henri out. There was no movement. Getting down on his knees, he peered inside for a look – Henri was crouched inside facing away from him, facing the back. “Henri? Buddy? Wanna come on out?”

There was no response. Neal reached his right hand in to try to lift him out, sliding it under Henri’s chest and trying not to press on his incision or anything, but when he lifted his arm, the entire cat carrier went with it, and so now it looked like he was wearing a cat carrier on his arm. Sighing, he set them both down and tried again – unzipping the top this time so Henri could hop out. When he peered inside, Henri still stared at the wall of the carrier, only now Neal noticed the glassiness of his eyes and the fact his little pink tongue was hanging out. “Henri?”

Henri mumbled something that sounded like “Julie Andrews” but couldn’t have been (since he had a passionate hatred for “The Sound of Music”), and so Neal finally resorted to upending the carrier until Henri slid out in an undignified heap on the floor. “Sorry, man,” Neal mumbled and set about putting away the carrier and the groceries he’d picked up on the way home.

Several minutes later, Neal returned to the living room to find that the cat had moved – and sat huddled in the corner by his dish, staring at the wall, droplets of water beading on his whiskers. “Henri? Did you pass out in the water bowl?”

It took several seconds, but Henri eventually reacted, moving slowly away from the corner and wandering haphazardly across the room. He paused in the middle of the rug, looked around like he was missing something and promptly lay down on his side, instantly asleep, tongue still protruding from his mouth.

Neal stood over him to be sure he was still breathing, then grabbed an old t-shirt and draped it over him on the drafty floor.

“I somehow thought the cat being high would be funnier,” he mumbled, and went to turn on the TV.

 

**4.**

Henri slept all the way through to the next morning, when Neal gave him a small dish of half and half as a treat with his breakfast. “Feeling OK this morning?” he asked as he crouched in front of the cat.

“Was feelingk fine yesterday.”

Neal sighed. “I don’t doubt it, but you know I had no other choice.”

“Iz always choice, Nealz.”

“Not when your cat can’t keep it in his pants, Henri. Didn’t I _ask you_ to ignore that Persian?”

“She wuz 2 seksi, I can’t halp myself.”

“And meanwhile, there’s a litter of kittens coming that that cat’s owner already has me on the hook for. Thanks a lot, Henri - I’m going to be a grandfather! At 34!”

“She 2 seksi!” Henri insisted. “Anywayz, U iz no saint, Nealz. I see Alexz here last week.”

“Are you calling me a man whore? You? The Romeo of Riverside? At least I use a condom.”

“I can haz _condomz_?” Henri asked, incredulous.

“No. You can be fixed.”

“Iz hardly seemingk liek same ting.”

“Yeah, I knew I was full of shit as soon as I said it. Look, Henri, there really was no other way, we discussed it.”

“U discussed, I sits in horrozs. Iz barbaric.”

“Don’t make me feel worse than I already do.”

“I only beginz makingk U feel bad.”

“Aw, Henri, _come on_ ” Neal said, realizing he was whining and not liking it, but Henri had already huffed out of the room.

 

**5.**

In the end, the cost of Henri’s neutering was $300 to the vet, a completely ruined pair of Alexander McQueen linen trousers and puke inside two shoes – though not from the same pair, of course, so two pairs of Italian leather shoes destroyed. At least that was the tally by the weekend, when Neal lay on his couch, emotionally exhausted from the week, trying to read a book.

Suddenly, the unmistakable sensation of ten pounds of cat (minus a couple of ounces worth of testes) landing on the couch got Neal's attention. He glanced over the book, and saw Henri settle at the foot of the couch, facing away, but at least his butt was touching Neal's ankle.

Neal went back to reading, and was soon aware of a furry head insinuating itself into his palm. He moved his hand over a few inches and idly rubbed at Henri’s scalp with his thumb, eliciting a loud purr. His eyes drifted back to his reading, all the while petting and scratching at the cat’s ears. Henri sat back and shook his head, then came up close, rubbed his face all over Neal's chin, then settled on top of his arm and shoulder, effectively pinning Neal to the couch.

Neal closed the book and looked down on Henri. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he murmured.

“Maybe.” Henri purred and then closed his eyes.

“Can I get my arm back soon? I still have to make us dinner.”

“U iz get sushi?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, but is that what you want?”

“Sallmone belly.”

“Sushi it is, then.”

“Spicy yellowtailz.”

“Sure thing.”

“Otoro.”

“Hey, let’s not push it – I’m already in the hole this week.”

“Live a leetle, Nealz. We soon haz tiny moufs to feed.”

“Oh, brother.”


	7. Neal and LOLCat Henri vs. the Art Establishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri takes the art world by stormingks.

**1.**

“Henri!” Neal's voice was shocked, strangled.

“Nealz.”

“What have you done? My paintings?” Neal sank to his knees in disbelief, snatching the canvas away from the cat.

“Clawzez need sharpeningks.”

“Well, why do you think I bought that damn cat tree, then? It certainly wasn’t because it went with my decor!” Neal struggled to maintain his calm, but this latest behavior was beyond the pale. He stood, taking up the two ruined canvases and leaving the small storage closet. 

Henri trotted after him down the long hallway, passing him when they got to the main area of the apartment to sit in the middle of the floor licking a paw. “Ah, Jeez!” Neal said, laying the paintings up against his bookcase and picking the cat up unceremoniously from the floor. “There’s Prussian blue all over your paws.”

“I likez blue,” Henri said mildly as Neal took him over to the sink, found the can of paint thinner in the cupboard beneath it and squirted some onto a dish towel. “Stop it, Nealz!” he said plaintively, struggling as Neal turned him over in his arms and began to dab at the paint.

“I’m not having you ruin the furniture too,” Neal muttered. He shook his head, trying to calm down; probably having the cat in his arms when he was this upset with him was a bad idea. He sniffed.

“U iz sad?” Henri seemed worried suddenly.

“No, I’m not sad, Henri, I’m upset. I worked a long time on those two paintings, and now they’re ruined.”

“I iz sorry, Nealz. U never keeps de paintingks. So I think U no likez dem.”

Neal blinked, surprised at this observation. Yes, he rarely kept his paintings around, but, well… he never actually thought through why, exactly. “Well, that’s for me to decide, Henri,” he answered lamely.

Done with cleaning the animal’s paws, Neal tossed the cloth in the sink and looked down into his face. Henri blinked, his eyes larger than usual, and Neal saw that he clearly felt bad. He pulled him in close and kissed him on the forehead before depositing him on the counter. “What’s done is done,” Neal said, washing his hands and turning to grab his jacket. Peter said they had an interesting case and Neal was eager to get to the office.

 

**2.**

“U iz paintingk dat?” Henri sat perched on the end of Neal's dining table, tail wrapped around his feet, watching Neal with interest. 

Neal glanced over at him apprehensively. “Yes, it’s for a case. And please, please don’t touch either of them, Henri, or we’ll be in big trouble.” At Henri’s cocked head, Neal explained. “That,” he indicated the original canvas to his left, “is called ‘Mare Eating Hay’ by Lucien Freud, and it is the original, and you won’t be touching it!”

“U copy?”

“Yes, I’m making a copy because there’s a report that someone is about to hit the gallery where it’s to be displayed for auction, and the FBI wants a decoy just in case.”

“Is a lot of paint U R usingk,” Henri observed.

“Yeah, well, Freud liked to layer it on, and I want to be true to his technique. Just because it’s a copy, doesn’t mean it can’t be a good copy.”

“I liek. U bring back when de case iz ova?”

“No, I…” Neal stepped back, regarding the work with a frown. He was always hypercritical of his own work, even the forgeries. “I don’t think so.”

“U value URself, den U value UR paintingks,” Henri said philosophically, then leapt from the table to chase his new compressed catnip ball around the apartment. Neal was left with the distinct impression that he’d just been psychoanalyzed by his cat.

 

**3.**

“Neal.”

“Peter. Nice turn-out.” Neal stood at one of the bars at the gallery’s art opening, sipping his wine and watching the crowd that had gathered around his Freud forgery with satisfaction. “Did you notice Hannes Mayer in the crowd?”

“Mmm,” Peter answered, eyeing the internationally-known art fence briefly and flicking his eyes to others in the crowd. “And Jonathan Brandeis, and Amelia Prince, and Bruce Takahashi. It’s like a who’s who of art thieves in here.”

“Well, keep it in your pants until an actual crime’s been committed – we don’t want to show our hand.”

Peter laughed, but Neal noticed it held little mirth. “Oh, it’s firmly in my pants, Neal. What’s got me more interested, though, is the multiple artgasm going on in the opposite corner from where the Freud is being shown.”

Neal's eyes flicked over to the area in question, where works by newer artists were being showcased. There was a small but growing knot of art critics, buyers, and other luminaries gathered along one wall, and the oohing and aahing was audible from where they stood. “Oh? I haven’t had a chance to get back there. Anyone we know?”

“Maybe you can tell me,” Peter said with that intense, Dadly note to his voice that rarely boded well for Neal. He let Peter lead him over to the rear corner of the gallery by his elbow. “Will you please explain?” Peter hissed in his ear.

To say Neal was shocked to see what hung on the wall was an understatement. He literally choked on his Pinot, and nearly did a spit take all over Peter’s suit. 

Hanging on the wall were the two paintings that Henri had ruined the week before, and how they had gotten there, Neal had no idea. The first, another cityscape of the view out Neal's window, was unremarkable except for the smudges across its surface. Only Neal knew they were paw prints, though the commenters in the room seemed to think it a condemnation of modern classism. Or something – Neal was too distracted by what they were saying about the other of his paintings that hung on the wall. The second one, a portrait of an apoplectic Peter in extreme close-up that Neal had dashed off in a fit of pique the last time Peter had refused to take him to the MOMA, had been torn to ribbons by Henri’s claws, his face (and thankfully, his identity) almost totally obscured; the only recognizably Peter thing about it was the double finger point depicted in the lower left corner, the middle finger almost, but not quite, fully extended. This work was an instant sensation, though the words “shocking,” “insane countenance,” and “thrillingly vulgar” were being bandied about. 

Neal cleared his throat. “I… don’t know how they got here.”

“I think I do,” Peter said, tightening his grip on Neal's arm.

“Peter, I swear –“

“Is this your idea of a joke?” Peter hissed. 

“They must have picked these up with the Freud copy when they came to my place. I told you, Peter, the gallery needed to pick the painting up when I couldn’t be there. June must’ve told them to take them all.”

“I’m having them taken down. Right now.”

“In the middle of the show? The gallery’s managing director will have a stroke.”

“Fine, but they’re not for sale.”

“Too late,” Neal said, gesturing with his chin as two SOLD signs were affixed to them by one of the gallery’s representatives. Peter’s face turned purple as he began to sputter his protests. 

“Be careful, Peter,” Neal said, “wouldn’t want anyone recognizing you as the ‘shocking grotesque’ in the painting on the left…”

 

**4.**

“I cannot let you keep the money for the paintings, Neal.”

“But it’s over $300,000!”

“You are still technically a prisoner, any money you make is forfeited to the government.”

“Give me a break, Peter, you’re just pissed off that one of the paintings was of you.”

Peter’s lips went white as he pressed them together in a thin line. “I am not,” he said, clearly still angry about the mix-up at the gallery the previous week. Never mind that Neal's forgery had been so good, it’d attracted not one but two sets of thieves that were now in custody, and that a former friend of Freud’s who had sat as a model for him was so charmed by it, she offered to buy it anyway.

“And that it’ll be featured in _American Art Review,_ ” Neal continued, “and that it’ll be showing at a collection of up and coming artists at the Guggenheim's annex in the Spring.”

“Am. Not.”

“I hasten to point out that, _I_ am not the artist of record, therefore you cannot take the money away.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The final disposition of the paintings, their finishing touches as it were, are not my work. I cannot take full credit for them, and so I am leaving that to my esteemed collaborator.”

“Give me a break! Who? Mozzie?”

“Henri.”

“WHAT?!” Peter looked down at the being in question, who sat in the middle of Neal's bed, rear leg fully extended upwards as he licked his nethers. “YOUR CAT?!”

“Well, who do you think did all the artful shredding of the canvases? Not me. I lack the, what is it that Michael Kimmelman of the Times said? ‘The macro perspective on a micro scale.’ What does that even mean?”

“Oh my God, just shut up right now.”

Neal smirked, enjoying Peter’s fit for the moment. “Anyway, I’m not keeping the money, it’s going into a trust for a sanctuary for homeless LOLCats up in Connecticut. Henri insisted.”

“A trust. For LOLCats…”

“I cat. I philanthropist,” Henri piped in from the bed, then went back to his grooming ritual. 

Neal just shrugged, and laughed, enjoying Peter’s consternation.

 

**5.**

“Henri!” Neal called, kicking the door to the apartment closed and laying his purchases down on top of the dining table. “Dinner.”

“Iz sushi?”

“Only the finest, fattiest tuna belly for America’s hottest young artist.” Neal unwrapped Henri’s food and tore it into smaller pieces for his tiny mouth to manage. “Besides, you’re going to need the energy if you’re going to get enough works ready for your show in the Spring.”

“Iz in five months, Nealz,” Henri pointed out.

“You can’t hurry great art. I hope you are feeling creative. Or destructive. Whichever works best for you, really.”

Henri hopped up onto the table and flexed a paw against Neal's forearm, his claws needle-sharp. “My muse iz ready.”

Neal laughed. “Terrific. I’ve got a couple Thomas Kinkades you can have at whenever you’re ready.”

“I preferz UR workz, Nealz. We R a team.”

“I know, but I kinda don’t want you to destroy them anymore.”

“U liekz UR paintingks now?” Henri, Neal noticed, was trying not to sound too excited.

Neal ducked his head, feeling a blush come to his cheeks. “Yeah, I do. This whole experience got me to thinking about what my talent means to me, how I use it to express myself. And I – I like it, you know?”

Henri butted his head against Neal's bicep repeatedly, and purred loudly. “I proud of U, Nealz. U de real artist.”

Neal bent over and let Henri rub his face against his cheek. “Aw, just for that, there’s whipped cream for dessert.”

“Yumz.”


	8. Neal and LOLCat Henri vs. the Blue Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri is a Grinch, but with good reason.

**1.**

_“Oh the weather outside is frightful,_  
But the fire is so delightful,  
And since we’ve no place to go…” 

Neal stopped singing, spun on his heel, and threw Henri a _Hit it!_ gesture. The cat blinked at him, then turned his head and continued gazing out of the window. 

“Come on, Henri, you missed your cue,” Neal said, adjusting his Santa hat as he continued to string lights on their Christmas tree. 

“Bumblehugz, Nealz.”

“That’s supposed to be humbug, Mr. Scrooge McLOLCat. Come on, last week you were all psyched to get a Christmas tree, and I quote, ‘Candee canez iz yumz.’ How come you’re being such a grumblepuss?”

“Fanciful idiomz iz beneaf U, Nealz,” Henri sniffed, jumping off the cat tree and stalking out of the room. 

Neal watched, open-mouthed as Henri made his way down the long hallway to the bathroom where his litterbox could be found. Shaking his head, he continued with the lights, then moved on to unwrapping the ornaments that June had lent him and figuring out the best places for them. Before long, Henri reappeared, carrying with him a small, plush squirrel-shaped toy that he took over to the low wicker basket in the corner beside the bed. He dropped it inside then curled up beside it, resting his face on top of it, his back to Neal. 

As he did, Neal felt a sudden pang – the basket was where the four tiny kittens [ Henri’s liaison with June’s neighbor’s champion Persian](http://rabidchild67.livejournal.com/149648.html) had produced would sleep in the month they lived with Neal and Henri. Only that week had the kittens been deemed old enough to be taken to their forever homes, and Neal missed them all. 

Neal laid the box of ornaments he held onto the table, picked up the mug that lay at one end and headed for the fridge. “Look at that, all the whipped cream in my hot chocolate melted. Think I need a freshening-up, you want some Henri?” He shook the can in an exaggerated way, trying to make as much noise as possible.

“I lactose intolerabuhls.”

“All of a sudden? Gosh, you just had some thirty minutes ago… I’d better make a mental note to ask the vet about sudden-onset lactose sensitivity.” Henri sighed and Neal tried a different tack. “I was thinking of trying that new Polynesian place up on 110th for dinner tonight – wanna split an order of poke?”

“I not hungry.”

“You sure, buddy?”

“I shur.”

“OK,” Neal said, wandering back to his work on the tree, but without the enthusiasm he’d had for it a few minutes ago. 

 

**2.**

“Wait, wait – check this out… HEE!” Peter laughed with sheer delight as he shone the laser pointer he held on the floorboards for the benefit of the Burke family’s newest member, LOLKitten Simone. 

“I catchez heem!” her tiny voice shouted in triumph, but then Peter shut the light source off. “I losez heem!” she said in dismay. “Oh hai! Dere he iz!” she said as the pinpoint of red light reappeared on Satchmo’s hind quarters and she attacked it with gusto. Satch laid his head on his paws with a long-suffering sigh. 

El shook her head and smiled ruefully at Neal as she sipped at her mug of tea. “You know, I’d stop him from teasing her like that if I didn’t know for a fact they both love every minute of it. Thanks again for the early Christmas present, Neal.”

“Thanks for taking the last of the kittens – I know it was a lot to ask. You guys are dog people.”

She squeezed his arm. “It was my pleasure, honey. It’s been years since I had a cat around, and I forgot how much I loved it. And Peter, well, I dunno about that dog person claim – it was love at first sight.” 

As if to illustrate the point, Peter strode over to Simone and scooped her up; cradling her in both his hands, he buried his nose in the soft fur of her belly, gently tickling her. “Stop it, Peda, stop!” Simone shrieked delightedly, her tiny paws grasping onto his face. Peter paused, and she dug her claws into him and demanded, “Moar, Peda, moar!”

Neal laughed with bemusement, shaking his head. “I wish things were as happy at my place,” he confessed.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Henri’s got the holiday blues or something. He’s been moping around the house all week and when he’s not lying, stricken, on the bed like Camille, he’s gorging on vanilla ice cream.”

“Ice cream? Neal – how’s he even getting any?”

Neal shrugged defensively. “Well, what am I supposed to do? At least it cheers him up. A little.”

“Can cats get seasonal affective disorder?”

“You tell me – I’ve never had a pet before, let alone a LOLCat. Lately he’s taken to carrying this stuffed squirrel around all the time and sleeping curled up around it. He doesn’t play with it, he just…noses at it. It’s kinda sad.”

“Sweetie, I think he’s got empty nest syndrome.”

“What? He’s a cat.”

“And his kittens have just all been taken away. The poor thing, he just needs some time.”

“Me too, I think,” Neal said quietly, eyeing Peter, who was dangling a feather-on-a-stick just above Simone’s head. The kitten leapt up to hang, suspended in the air with all four legs wrapped around the toy. 

El rubbed his upper arm sympathetically. 

 

**3.**

Neal sighed as he boxed up the last of the Fancy Feast kitten food for Peter and El to feed to Simone. He remembered how the kittens would gorge on the stuff and then fall asleep beside the bowl and on top of each other, tiny bellies round and full. When he turned from the kitchen counter, he spotted their basket in the corner again and couldn’t prevent a lump from forming in his throat – they may have only lived with him for five weeks, but he got to love each and every one of them, and delighted in their childish chatter, and in trying to predict the kinds of personalities they’d have when they grew up, and whether they’d be like Henri or not. 

“Get over yourself, Caffrey,” he admonished himself as he deposited the box of food and toys beside his front door. He glanced over at Henri, who lay on his back stretched out and unmoving on Neal's bed, and went over to talk to him. “Henri.”

“Nealz.”

“I think I know why you’ve been depressed.”

“I not depressed.”

“You’ve been moping around the house lately. You want to talk about why?”

“I naturally taciturn.”

“That’s… OK, that’s pretty true, actually, but all this walking around with that toy squirrel and sighing, it’s not like you, Henri, and I’m worried. I think we need to discuss it.” Henri ignored him. “You know, I’m sad the kittens are gone too, Henri.” Again, Henri remained silent. “Maybe if we talk about it, we will feel better.” Stony silence. “Therapy works for a reason, Henri. It makes people feel better.”

“I not needingk therapeh, Nealz.”

“Why not?”

“I cat.”

Neal waited a beat – normally, Henri had a pithy backup phrase that summed up not only his position, but the entire situation. “W-wait, that’s it?” he asked at length. “You’re a cat?”

“Rite, and I needz no psychoanalysis.” Henri rose and jumped from the bed, heading for the hallway muttering, “Stoopid hoomin.” 

Neal sighed and went to put away the kittens’ basket. 

 

**4.**

_Ding-dong!_

Neal trotted over to the door to let Peter and El in – they’d made a plan to spend Christmas Eve together this year as in years past, and it was Neal's turn to host. They both came in laden with bags and bags of gifts for Neal, Moz, and Henri, and once coats had been hung and Moz and El drifted off to get everyone drinks, Peter approached Neal. 

“Hey, how’s Henri – El said he was feeling blue?”

Neal sighed. “About the same. I’m hoping all the stuff I got him for Christmas will cheer him up. Did you know there are heirloom varieties of catnip?”

“You don’t say.”

“I planted a whole terrarium full.”

“Wow, that’s… enterprising of you.” Peter gave Neal a look like he thought he was insane and Neal gave a small laugh as if he was kidding, even though he totally wasn’t. “Listen,” Peter continued, “maybe this is overstepping, but I just – I felt bad about you guys having to… well, to give up some loved ones, so I…”

As he spoke, Neal noticed the small bag he had slung over his shoulder was actually a cat carrier, and that tiny claws were poking out of the holes in its side. “Is that…?”

Peter lifted the bag and held it out, a hand steadying its bottom. “I brought Simone along, thought it’d cheer you up.”

Neal took the case and unzipped the top, and a tiny, black ball of fuzz turned her wide blue eyes up at him. “Surpriz, Nealz!” Simone said happily. 

Neal scooped her up in one hand and nuzzled her against his face. “Oh, Peter, that’s so - Henri will be happy to see her again. Henri, look who’s here!” Neal called, and Henri swiveled his head around from his perch on Neal's bed.

“Hallo, Papa!” Simone said with a laugh, squirming in Neal's hands, so he set her down and she scampered over to the bed. He watched their reunion with a huge smile on his face. “Thanks, Peter,” he murmured. 

Peter touched his elbow and Neal grimaced, embarrassed by the tears that had suddenly formed in his eyes. “Hey, there’s one more thing,” Peter said, drawing him aside. “I know it’s been hard to give all the kittens away, but since El and I have got Simone, I was thinking that, maybe, you’d want her back?” 

The joy that swelled inside Neal threatened to unman him, but it was short-lived; he was not so distracted that he didn’t notice the reluctance in Peter’s voice and the uncertainty in his eyes. “Peter, I couldn’t – she’s yours. You love her.”

“But, I mean, she’s your family.”

“She’s _your family_ too. I couldn’t take her from you, Peter, really. But maybe some sort of visitation arrangement?”

Peter looked relieved. “You mean like joint custody?” He smiled. “I think that could work.”

Neal smiled back and held a hand out, which Peter took. They shook for a second until Peter pulled Neal into a gruff hug. “Merry Christmas, Neal.”

“And it will be a much happier one, thanks to you, Peter.”

 

**5.**

“May I have a cheeseburger?”

“I can haz cheezburger?”

“May I have a cheeseburger…” Neal prompted Simone, hoisting her up onto his chest, where she sat primly staring down at him. It was New Year’s Eve, and he and Henri had had Simone for the weekend; now they’d brought her home to Casa Burke to ring in the New Year, and he was trying to see if he could teach her to speak standard English rather than LOLspeak. 

“I can haz…”

“No, no, repeat after me,” Neal interrupted. “May I…”

“May I.”

“Have.” He put particular emphasis on the “v.”

“Havvvvve.”

“A cheeseburger.”

“A cheeseburger.”

“Good! Now say it all together.”

“I can haz cheezburger?”

Neal sighed and rubbed her tiny, fuzzy head. 

“Iz dere cheezburgerz, Nealz?”

“No cheezburgerz 4 kittenz!” Henri admonished from somewhere behind them. “Only holesum milkz and kibblez.”

“Aw, Papa!” Simone protested.

“Where is he?” Peter asked idly, entering the room with a glass of red wine he handed to Neal. 

“Henri?” Neal called. 

“Rawr! I’m in UR tree, eatin’ UR tinsel!” As if to punctuate the point, one of the branches on Peter’s Christmas tree shivered as Henri moved inside, the ornaments swaying dangerously.

“Henri, get out of there!” Neal scolded, getting up and handing Simone over to Peter, who kissed her on the head and set her on the floor. She scampered over to Satchmo and started stalking his tail.

“I haf de Christmas spirit nao, Nealz!”

“I see that, Henri, but can we maybe not ruin our friends’ decorations when we show it?” Neal said as he pulled the cat out of the tree.

“U no fun, Nealz,” Henri grumbled good-naturedly at him as he spread all of his legs in different directions, so Neal set him onto the floor as well.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Did I see Elizabeth putting out some egg nog?” Henri smacked his lips and trotted off to the kitchen. 

“Cats can have eggnog?” Peter asked.

“It’s basically melted vanilla ice cream – as long as there’s no alcohol, what the heck.”

“I’m learning something new every day,” Peter said. “I just figured cats were mini-dogs, but man was I wrong. I tried to scratch Simone above her tail the other day and she bit me!” Neal laughed. “I don’t get it – I mean, she seemed to be into it for a while, and then wham – needle-sharp teeth sinking into my thumb!”

“She’s a cat – it’s good until it isn’t. You’ll figure it out. By the way, Henri was very complimentary about you the other day.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He was grooming Simone’s ears for her, and they were talking. I heard him tell her that she was always going to be safe with you because you’re a good lawmanz.”

Peter blinked, astonished; Henri’s issues with him were well-documented. “I guess I’m back in his good graces, then.” 

“Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it,” Neal warned.

Peter smiled. “He’s a cat – it’s good until it isn’t.”

“Now you’re getting it.”


	9. Neal and LOLCat Henri vs. the New Year’s Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eating healthfully is a good resolution, right?

**1.**

“Oh. Hrmmmm,” Dr. Hackney said, eying the number on the scale.

“Is there a problem?” Neal asked, concerned.

“There’s been a weight gain.”

Neal blinked. “Excuse me?”

“This happens post-neutering. We just need to cut back on the cream, eh Big Guy?” The vet administered a playful noogie atop Henri’s head with a laugh and deposited him on the examination table. 

“Keep UR handz to yourselfs,” Henri grumped, swiping at the doctor with a paw.

“He’s a young cat, we don’t want him to get too large, Mr. Caffrey,” Hackney said over him.

“Of course, Doctor. Any recommendations?”

“There are some low-calorie foods you could try – you want to find one with a high protein content. I’ll give you a few recommendations. More exercise also wouldn’t hurt.” The doctor prepped Henri’s rabies vaccination.

“You hear that, Henri, more exercise. Maybe we ask Peter to bring Satchmo over a couple times a week, eh?” Neal kidded as he held on to the front end of his cat.

“U not funneh, Nealz,” Henri said, his voice muffled by Neal’s belly. The vet injected the vaccine into Henri’s hindquarters and the cat gave a yowl of protest. 

“It’s for your own good. This is all for your own good, I told you.”

“Since I wuz neutered, I findz your credibiliteh iz lackingk.”

“Smartass,” Neal muttered, holding the opening of the cat carrier open. Henri grudgingly got in; as usual, he was only too happy to do this at the tail end of a vet’s visit.

“Hide UR shoez.”

 

**2.**

“What iz U doingk, Nealz?”

“Clearing out the fridge of all the fattening foods. It’s a New Year, right? Maybe we should both make a resolution to eat right.”

“Not de whippy cream!”

“Yes, the whipped cream. Oh, wait, it’s pretty full – maybe I’ll give it to Peter for Simone,” Neal said thoughtfully. “Look, I’m being denied too – all of this cheese has to go.”

“Triple cream brie?” Henri said, a stricken expression on his face.

“All of it.”

“Shurely not de tuna belly, Nealz!” 

“I said all of it.”

“Iz fifty dollar a pound, Nealz,” Henri pointed out.

“Oh yeah. OK, maybe we have one last big dinner… with _a salad_ ”

“What iz all dat?”

“New groceries!” Neal said, unpacking the carrier bags. “More veggies for me, less sweets for you. Look - tofu ice cream!”

“Ugh, Nealz.”

“You haven’t even tried it.”

“Everyting wif tofu meanz ugh, Nealz.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Hey, look at this.” Neal brought out a new cat toy, a bright yellow feather attached to a two-foot plastic stick with a long string. “Thought you could get a workout in later.”

“U iz no funneh.”

“Or maybe some cat yoga, would you like that? Very low impact – I [saw it online.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmE5uqUDHQg)”

“U iz unbelievabuhls,” Henri said in a tone that said he was done discussing this entire subject. He began to lick a front paw, his claws extended, a clear threat. 

“That reminds me it’s time for claw trimming. Oh, no you don’t!” Neal said, catching Henri before he could leap off the table.

 

**3.**

“Mmmmerrrrrrhh!”

Neal unlocked the door and tossed his keys into the bowl on the table.

“Mwarrrrr!”

“Henri?” Neal turned to where the piteous sounds were coming from. Henri lay draped dramatically across the upper level of his cat tree, paws in the air. “Somethin’ up, buddy?” Neal started going through his mail.

“So, so weeeak!”

“Uh-huh.” Neal distractedly opened his cellular bill and checked the balance. 

“I iz dyingk. Tell Simone I loaf her.” Henri’s right paw reached out beseechingly.

“Dammit, they didn’t apply that credit!” Neal said, making a mental note to call customer service in the morning and returning the bill to the table. He took his jacket off as he made for the hallway that led to his closet to change. When he emerged, Henri was lying, unmoving, on his side right on the floor in front of the doorway. “Oh no, my cat has died,” Neal deadpanned. “Whoever will inform me of my shortcomings?” He stepped over Henri and went to pour himself a glass of red wine. 

“U not funneh, Nealz.” Henri said, getting up and heading toward him. 

“Neither are you – I come home to this performance every night. Don’t tell me you’re starving, there’s still kibble in the bowl.”

“It taste liek unhappiness.”

“It’s thirty-five bucks a bag, and is the top of the line. The first ingredient is salmon – your favorite.”

“U hatez me.”

“It’s the same stuff I used to buy, just low fat, and I do not hate you. I’m doing this because I love you, Henri, because if you’re fat you become a joke, and then people start calling you Garfield. Would you put me through that indignity? You don’t even like lasagna.” 

“Garfield,” Henri said with disgust. “Shallow characterizashons and prurient jokingkz do no ting to lift unimaginatif storytellingkz.” Henri would not stop talking about his feelings about the film after Peter had shown it to him and Simone one weekend. “Iz even insulting to dogs.”

“Word,” Neal agreed. He bent over and picked up Henri’s food dish, dumping the stale food from the morning and refilling it. He had a thought. “Hey, if I put tuna juice on this, do you think you’ll like it any better?”

“Perhaps.”

Neal thought he could go for a tuna salad sandwich for lunch the next day.

 

**4.**

“Come on, let’s play.” Neal waved the feather toy close enough to Henri’s head to move his whiskers. Henri shook his head and gave him an odd look. “Henri, you used to love to play, what’s wrong now?”

“I moar interested in intellectual pursuitz.”

“Not buying it,” Neal said, dragging the feather up and down the cat’s body. “I saw you checking out that centerfold in last month’s _Cat Fancy_. Abyssinian, huh?”

“Dey haf big… ears.”

“You sly dog.”

“I still man, Nealz.” 

“A chubby man. Come on!” Henri swiped a paw at the feather, but was too slow to catch it. “You’re losing your touch, Henri!” He made the feather dance in front of Henri on the bed. One paw shot out and caught the tip, but Neal dragged it away. He rested it on Henri’s head briefly. Henri twisted around onto his back with lightning speed and captured the thing between all four paws with a triumphant grunt.

“I catchez heem!”

“And there he goes!” Neal said, wresting the feather away and letting it flutter down on the opposite corner of the bed. 

“Ah ha!” Henri shouted, twisting around and leaping on top of it. 

They played with the feather for another fifteen minutes, until Neal let Henri catch it for good and the cat held it captive beneath his belly, licking the outer vanes of it and purring. “See, that’s all it takes for you to get a little exercise,” Neal pointed out. “Wasn’t that fun?”

“Wuz divertingks.”

“You know, there are lots of girls up at the  LOLCat sanctuary in Connecticut . I could take you up there one weekend, see if you can make some new friends.”

“I liek dat,” Henri said, releasing his grip on the feather as Neal began to stroke the fur along his back. “But no yet. I no sexeh yet.”

Neal laughed. “OK, we’ll wait until you’re all hot again, buddy.”

 

**5.**

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Neal asked.

“He’s lost two pounds – impressive!” Dr. Hackney reported.

“I workingk out,” Henri said proudly. If he had the proper anatomy for it, Neal would swear he’d have flexed a bicep.

“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

“It was rough at first, but we’ve been doing pretty well,” Neal admitted. 

“Well, one more pound, and I’d say we’re in good shape,” Hackney told Neal. “And that means no slacking, buddy,” the doctor said, addressing Henri. “No undoing all that hard work with more whipped cream.”

“U iz killjoy, Hack-a-knee.”

Later in the taxi on the way to pick up Simone for the weekend, Henri pawed at the side of his carrier to get Neal's attention. “Nealz.” Neal unzipped the top a bit and Henri’s head popped out; he hated being cooped up in the carrier. 

“You should be proud of yourself, buddy,” Neal told him, rubbing at his ears. “I sure am.”

“Tank U, Nealz.”

“To celebrate, I’ll pick up some salmon belly for you and Simone for a treat this weekend.”

“Only one tiem, Nealz – I not sexeh yet.”

“You’re plenty sexy.” Neal noticed the odd expression on the cabbie’s face and added, “Uh, for a cat. So what do you want to do with Simone this weekend? Felix the Cat marathon?”

“Exploringkz. June iz out of town.”

“Ah ha – the garden awaits.” Henri loved June’s garden. Bugsy did not love Henri. Given that it was early May, and the butterflies were in abundance, Neal thought Henri and Simone scampering in the garden was the perfect way to spend the afternoon. He mentally prepared a picnic for them all and considered asking Peter and Elizabeth over. “So, you feeling good? You glad you went on a diet?”

“Iz no diet, Nealz, iz lifestyle choice.”

“A good way to look at it.”

“I glad UR in my lifestyle, Nealz.”

“Me too, Henri.”


	10. Neal and LOLCat Henri vs. the Snowpocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri's just not a fan of bad weather, OK?

_RING-RING_

“Mmmph.”

_RING-RING_

“’m up.”

_RING-RING_

“Where is the freaking… hello?”

“Nealz.”

“Henri? What time is it? 3:47. Did you steal Elizabeth’s cell?”

“De weendz is blowingk.”

“It’s just snow, Henri, you’re safe over there.”

“De snowz iz cold. Iz bad 4 kittehs.”

“You haven’t seen much snow in your life, huh? Last winter was pretty mild.”

“How can tineh ices get bigger den kittehs?”

“Listen, buddy, I know the snow drifts can get pretty high, but please don’t let that cause another existential crisis. We were fine after [ the hurricane](http://rabidchild67.livejournal.com/148617.html), remember?”

“U were dere. I wuz dere. Home iz best 4 kittehs. Togetherz.”

“Oh, I get it – we were at home during Sandy. I’m sorry the weather stranded Peter and me down here in DC, but you’re with Elizabeth, and Simone. And Satchmo.” 

“De puppeh bounces in de snowz. Iz unseemleh.”

“Ah ha-ha-ha. He’s having fun. How’s Simone like it?”

“She thinkz iz funz 2. Elizabeth make tiny snow cupcakez she drizzle with tuna juice.”

“Tuna snowcones? Why didn’t I think of that? Were they good?”

“Not as good as ice cream.”

“No doubt. Listen, you don’t have anything to be afraid of, honestly. Just stay inside by the fire and enjoy your snow day.”

“What iz snow day?”

“It’s a human tradition of allowing the weather to force you to do nothing, like an unexpected vacation.”

“I cat. Every day iz vacashons.”

“Well, that’s true. Still, you should make the most of it. I’m sure El’s stocked up for the storm – I’ll bet there’s delicious whipped cream in your future if you play your cards right. And if you can stand it, try going out onto the deck – you might even find you like the snow.”

“Mebbe.”

“Or – hey! I can borrow one of Bugsy’s little sweaters and you and I can go to the park when I get back. Make little snowcat angels.”

“U iz not serious.”

“It would be so cute – the red one with the hoodie?”

“…”

“Fine. Listen, as soon as the roads are clear, Peter and I’ll come home, but it might not be until Sunday, so be nice to Elizabeth, OK?”

“I always good and polite kitteh.”

“You forget I know you, Henri. Don’t be all grumpy because of the storm. Sometimes your insecurities get in the way of your enjoyment of things.”

“Now U iz analyzing me.”

“It’s not difficult. Will you promise to keep an open mind about the snow? Some of my best memories as a kid were making snow forts and having snowball fights with my friends. If you just let yourself, you’ll have fun. Don’t be such a grumblepuss.”

“Once U label me, U negates me, Nealz.”

“Now you bust out the Kierkegaard? I suppose it was just a matter of time...”

“I seek self, Nealz.”

“Don’t let me stand in the way of your personal existential journey. Just, you know, lighten up. Try to have fun every once in a while.”

“U findz self in snow forts?”

“Don’t be a smartass. Now get to bed, it’s late.”

“U make me snow kitty when U home?”

“If you like.” 

“Good night, Nealz.”

“Good night, Henri.”


	11. Henri's in the Cradle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri misunderstands a song lyric.

“Nealz.”

“Henri…. _Henri!_ What are you doing in June’s antique baby cradle? That thing’s worth more than the two of us combined.”

“Iz comfortabuhlz.”

“You’re getting cat hairs all over the damask.”

“Iz that all U seez?”

“Why? Am I supposed to see significance in the fact that my cat is literally in the cradle? Are you rather ham-handedly trying to say something to me?”

“…”

“Is this because I stayed at Sara’s last night? I told you that might happen – I even called you on June’s cell to say good night.”

“Draw UR own conclushons, Nealz.”

“Do you really mean to imply, in your use of a classic Harry Chapin song, that I have in any way neglected you?”

“Om-nom-nom.”

“Don’t lick your paws, I’m talking to you. Are you accusing me of poorly-placed priorities? Of ignoring your emotional needs? Me?”

“Om-nom-nom.”

“That is extremely hurtful, Henri.”

“Nealz. Nealz!”

“Don’t talk to me!”

“Nealz!”

“Dat didn’t go very well, huh papa?”

“No, Simone. What iz dis song?”

“Iz about cats in cradlez and silber spoonz! Iz soundz liek funz 2 me, but I think Nealz is mad!”

“I think U iz rite. He does not think kittehs in cradles is cute.”

“I will take de spoond back 2 June. Sigh.”


	12. Henri: Into Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri learns a life lesson from Star Trek: Into Darkness.

“Nealz.”

“Shh, Henri, the music is really good – I love Michael Giacchino’s work.”

”But Nealz. Nealz. Nealz.

“Stop poking me. And remind me to clip your claws when we get home. What is it?”

“De Captain, he save de ship?” 

“Yes, Henri. He sacrificed his life so that all the men and women on the Enterprise could live.”

“He iz a very great man, de Captain.”

“Yes, his character was very brave. He knew what had to be done, and he did it.”

“He wuz afraid to die?” 

“But he sacrificed his life anyway, for the good of all his people. Nelson Mandela once said that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. ” 

“You iz brave too, Nealz? And Peter?”

“Well, I mean, there’s always a bit of risk in all our cases, I won’t lie. But we take precautions, Henri, don’t worry.”

“U iz protect all de peoples and de kittehs?” 

“Uh, yes, the FBI protects all citizens, uh, equally.”

“U life long and proper, Nealz.” 

“Don’t worry, Henri, I’m not going anywhere any time soon.”


	13. Neal vs. the LOLKitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal brings home a tiny ball of black and white fuzz – but it’s only temporary.

**1.**

“Hey, little guy, we’re home.” 

Neal unbuttoned his coat to allow the tiny ball of black and white fuzz to poke his head out into the open. 

“Dis ur hole haus, Meestair?” the tiny voice asked. 

Neal could feel the tiny body still shaking intermittently, and so hiked his arm up to hold the kitten closer to him. “Just this part of it – the rest of the place is owned by a nice lady named June.”

“Iz big,” the kitten – who had introduced himself earlier as Henri – said, and buried his face against Neal's shirt as if hiding from the room.

“I think it’s pretty cozy. You hungry? I picked up some cat food at the bodega around the corner, but I’m not sure it’s all that good.” Neal frowned at the small can he pulled from his pocket – he wasn’t at all convinced of the quality of a brand that clearly didn’t take itself too seriously if it was called, “Friskies.”

“I no,” Henri replied. 

“OK. Want me to set you down? I’d like to get changed out of my suit.”

Henri’s tiny – and surprisingly sharp – claws pierced the fabric of Neal's shirt. “OK,” he clearly lied.

“OK,” Neal said indulgently, carrying the kitten with him as he made his way to his closet. When he got there, he gently extricated the cat from inside his jacket and set him down atop a dresser, then changed into a pair of khakis and a sweater and carried Henri back into the main part of his apartment, nestled against his belly. Neal carried the cat to the kitchen and set him on the counter while he made himself a sandwich, then picked up cat and plate and moved to the living room, setting Henri down on the floor while he ate.

“You OK?” Neal asked, noting the cat’s stiff little body; he was lying crouched down, as if poised to spring away at any second.

“I big kitty.”

“Sure you are, but it’s OK if you’re a little weirded out by being in a strange place, you know.”

“Mebbe. A leetle.”

“You want to come up here with me?”

Apparently he did, because Henri didn’t respond or wait for Neal to pick him up, he just scrambled up Neal's pant leg until he was sitting beside him on the couch.

“Ow.”

“I sorry.”

“Want some turkey?” Neal held out a bit of meat for the kitten, who took the morsel in his lips and mouthed at it experimentally, dropped it, chewed on it, dropped it again, then finally managed to swallow it. “You like that?”

“Dank u Meestair. Yes.”

He was a polite kitten, Neal would give him that. The fact that he talked Neal had already filed away to be thought about later. He handed him another small piece of turkey. “You can call me Neal if you want.”

“Nealz.”

“Neal.”

“Nealz.”

Neal studied his tiny kitten mouth as he pronounced the words – it appeared that his whiskers and the shape of his mouth combined to cause his bizarre speech patterns. The vaguely European accent was a mystery, though. He wondered what Moz would make of him. “Sounds good. Should I get you some real cat food? I think you should eat something – it’s been a trying day.”

“Iz good,” Henri agreed and Neal returned to the kitchen and put about a quarter of the can onto a tiny, china saucer and set it on the couch beside the kitten.

“Om nom nom.”

“You’re done already?”

“Moar?”

“Sure.” 

By the time Henri had eaten his fill, the can was 75% empty, and he lay on the couch on his side with his tiny belly round and full. Neal had an irrational desire to bury his nose in the soft fur and quashed it.

“You were pretty hungry, huh?”

“De manz no feedz regularrr,” Henri explained in a tone of voice so void of affect it clenched at Neal's heart. He hated to think of the neglect poor Henri and the other cats that had been rescued today had endured.

“Well, you’re safe now, Henri.”

“U nice manz, Nealz.”

“You’re pretty nice yourself. That was awfully brave of you to draw the man’s fire away from me and my friends earlier today.”

“He bad manz.”

“He is, and he’s going to be in prison for a long, long time thanks to you.” 

The White Collar unit’s latest case involved a pair of burglars who used these so-called LOL Cats to help them break into private homes – a cat burglar who used actual cats. Thanks to Neal's undercover work, they’d caught up to them and brought it all a successful if nearly-violent conclusion earlier that day. Young Henri had distracted the suspect after he’d pulled a gun on Neal and Peter, allowing Peter to disarm the guy and then arrest him. The remaining cats – three in all – had been taken temporarily by the Humane Society, but Henri was so frightened, Neal took him home temporarily until better arrangements could be found.

“My Mama teachez me de right and de wrong.”

“She did a good job. Do you not know where she is, your mother?”

Henri’s eyes got impossibly wide and limpid. “I no see her 4 long timez. De manz take me away.”

“No? Well, maybe we can look for her someday.”

Henri was silent, and Neal didn’t know if the cat believed him or not. Neal didn’t know if he believed it, either – how do you find a forgotten kitten’s mother?

\----

Neal was just dozing off when he felt a slight tugging on his covers. Soon, Henri had curled up against his chest. 

“I don’t know how I feel about you sleeping on my bed.”

“It lonely in de basket,” Henri said in a small voice. Neal had filled a small basket with a fleecy blanket.

“Well, I suppose since it’s your first night, it’s OK. But just this once.”

“OK, Nealz. Just de once.”

 

 **2.**

“Here’s the cat litter.”

“That stuff? Peter, it’s not the non-tracking brand I asked you to get.”

“The other one’s twice as much, Neal.”

“And the dust’ll get on his little paws and then he’ll lick them, because he’s a cat and they do that _all the time_. You don’t want to be responsible for him getting all of that into his little tummy, do you?”

“I suppose not,” Peter grumbled and went off in search of the premium litter.

\----

“Jeez, Neal how much does that food cost, anyway?”

“I dunno – sixty bucks a bag?”

“Sixty bucks?! Neal, come on, you can’t afford all of this.”

“I can afford plenty. Besides, this stuff’s made from real chicken – not ground up bones and corn and owl feces or whatever. Grain-free. I’m not going to put in his little belly what I wouldn’t put into mine.”

“It’s not as if you’re keeping him. Need I remind you that you yourself said it was temporary when you took him home.”

“Ooo – look at these little springs!”

“Only two days, and he’s got you wrapped around his little paw.”

“He’s had a rough time of it, Peter. Alone in a strange city – so young. It’s hard.”

“Uh-huh. Over-identify much?”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. Hey – grab that fresh catnip over there, would you?”

 

 **3.**

Neal heard a crash and a yelp and ran up the remaining flight of stairs to his apartment to find his door standing ajar. Inside he found Henri, hissing and bushy-tailed on the book shelf at about eye level and Bugsy barking up at him, a houseplant smashed on the floor next to the dog. 

“Henri! Bugsy!” 

Bugsy continued barking, so Neal yelled at him once more, and he quieted. “Bad dog!” 

Bugsy whined. 

“Do you want to tell me just what the heck is going on here?” Neal demanded, hands on his hips and not at all disturbed by the fact he was interrogating a small dog.

“He chasez me! U iz bad dog!” Henri cried.

“That is not good host behavior, mister,” Neal informed Bugsy, who looked thoroughly mortified. Neal pointed at the door. “Now go to your pillow and think about what you’ve done.”

Bugsy whined again and then walked sullenly from the room.

Henri was still mewing and breathing heavily, so Neal picked him up from the shelf and held him close. “Shs-shh-shh. It’s OK. What happened?”

“De door iz opened, so I go down de stairzez and dere is de bouncy ball.”

“I think I’m getting it.” 

“Dat dog iz no good!” Henri hugged Neal's hand.

“I think we need to just accept that Bugsy is not a good sharer.”

“Dogz iz bad!”

“Well, let’s not paint them all with the same brush – my friend Peter has a very nice dog you should meet some day. He likes kitties.”

“I tink he like to eat de kitties!”

“He does not. Besides, you know, one day you’ll be all grown up and you’ll probably be as big as Bugsy. Then we’ll see who’s boss.”

“I weel? I be big!” 

Henri began to squirm excitedly in Neal's arms, until he was forced to put him down. He promptly went over to the pile of dirt from the smashed flowerpot and squatted.

“Henri – no! I just bought you a litter box!”

 

 **4.**

“Henri, come on – movie night!”

“Moobie night – yiss!” Henri did an excited little dance on his paws then stopped and sat, cocking his head up at Neal. “What’s a moobie?”

Neal laughed and padded barefoot down the hall towards the main part of his apartment, Henri scampering after him. “A movie is a recording of a story that you watch. Sometimes it’s about real people, sometimes it’s about made-up people.”

“And kittens?”

“And kittens. The best part is we get to sit in our jammies and have snacks.”

“Temptayshons!” Henri said happily and ran ahead.

Neal went to his fridge, pulled out some pumpkin pie El had sent to him through Peter, and a can of whipped cream. The latter he shook vigorously before turning it upside down and squirting a generous amount atop the piece of pie he’d sliced for himself. He winced as a set of needle-sharp claws pawed at the back of his leg. He bent and lifted Henri up.

“What iz dat?” the kitten asked, wide-eyed as he took in the embarrassingly large cloud of whipped cream Neal had doled out for himself.

“Whipped cream. My secret indulgence.”

Henri’s nose wrinkled slightly and his whiskers bobbed up and down. “It smellz good, Nealz!”

“Tastes good too, here.” Neal took a bit of the cream on his fingertip and booped Henri on the nose, leaving a small deposit of the stuff there. Henri’s eyes crossed comically even as he scowled at Neal, but when he licked at the cream, his eyes widened.

“I liek de whippy cream,” the kitten informed Neal somberly, as if it was an important fact.

“Good to know,” Neal said, carrying the kitten and his dessert over to the couch, where they watched an _Aristocats_ and _Puss in Boots_ double feature before Henri fell asleep on Neal's chest.

 

 **5.**

_KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK_

Neal set down his paint brush and wiped his hands on a cloth, then went to answer his door. Henri ran under the bed as was his habit.

“Peter! What a nice surprise.”

“Hey, Neal – sorry to just show up like this on a Saturday.”

“I was just messing around,” Neal said, stepping aside to let him in, then closing the door. “What brings you to Manhattan?”

“Running some errands,” Peter said, but the look on his face told a different story.

“Out with it,” Neal said, feeling uneasy for some reason.

“The lady from the LOL Cat sanctuary up in New Haven called – they may have a spot for little Henri up there. She said we could bring him up on Monday.”

“Mon-Monday? That… that’s… So soon?” 

Neal felt the blood drain out of his face. He didn’t know how to feel about this. Sure, he’d originally said that Henri staying with him was a temporary thing, and it had only been a week, but he’d gotten used to having the little guy around. What’s more, Henri was used to him – was it fair to uproot him again, after everything he’d been through, after being stolen almost before he was weaned and forced into a life of crime?

“You do still want to get rid of him, right Neal? Just the other day you said to me again that this was temporary.”

 _Didn’t mean he actually meant it._ “I know, but…”

“And didn’t they say that the LOL Cat breed is endangered – you sure you want that responsibility? It’d mean being tied down, you know, and taking him to the vet and caring for him. And cats can live a long time.”

“I am aware of the responsibilities of pet ownership.”

“And what’re ya gonna do when the anklet comes off? Weren’t you going to go to Europe and Asia – flex your inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of pretty girls?” 

He had said that, yes, he had. But that was months ago, before Cape Verde, and before he realized how much having a warm, furry body running to greet him when he came home meant to him. 

“No, Peter, I don’t think I want that anymore.”

Neal thought he saw a smile playing around Peter’s mouth, but he turned his head and Neal couldn’t see his face at all. He definitely heard the small, “Yippeez!” emanating from under his bed. 

“You’re saying you want to keep Henri, then?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”


	14. Henri vs. the True Meaning of Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri learns not to take things for granted.

“So what are you thankful for this year, Neal?” Elizabeth asked, accepting another glass of wine from him. 

“I’m thankful the anklet’s off, for one thing,” he replied to laughter all around the table, but then he became thoughtful. “Mostly, I’m just thankful to be _here,_ among people I care for and who care for me. I’m thankful for my home.”

“Aww,” Peter said as Elizabeth gave Neal's shoulder a friendly squeeze. “We’re happy you’re here too.”

\----

“Nealz?”

Neal opened his eyes – Henri’s kneading of the muscles on his hip had almost lulled him to sleep. “Yes, Henri?” 

“Why U say U tankful B4?”

“Are you asking me about the meaning of the holiday?” Neal took Henri’s lack of reply as encouragement and answered, “Thanksgiving is a time to be reflective about the good things and people in our lives, and to remind ourselves not to take them for granted. You know, early in our history, the Puritans celebrated it as a religious holiday, a time to thank God for his blessings and grace.”

“And whippy cream?” 

Neal smiled. “Is that a hint?”

As Neal got off the couch to go to the fridge, Henri cocked his head to the side. “Am I tankful?” he murmured to himself, then began to lick at his front paw and rub it against his face thoughtfully. But when Neal returned, he forgot his musings and focused on his treat.

\----

“Om nom nom.”

“Done with your dinner, Henri?”

“Om nom nom. Yes, nao.”

“All righty then, let me just grab this.” Neal bent over to take Henri’s empty food dish over to the kitchen, where a dishwasher full of dirty dishes awaited its last inhabitant.

“Nealz?”

“Hmm?”

“Why U always give me de tuna juice on de kibbles?”

“Because it’s your favorite.”

“Iz so tasty. U no want it?”

Neal started the dishwasher and stooped down to rub Henri between his ears. “Of course not – it’s yours.” He went over to the couch and picked up the book he’d been reading earlier in the day. Henri watched him for a minute before getting back to his post-dinner grooming.

\----

“I here,” Henri said as he trotted across the back of Neal's couch, walked across his shoulders, down his chest and belly to settle in his lap. 

Neal held his iPad to the side, but kept his eyes on what he was reading. Henri burrowed down into Neal's lap, eventually turning over slightly. Neal sank into the couch cushions a little deeper, resting his left elbow on the arm of the couch, then letting his hand drop to rest on Henri’s chest. 

“U smile,” Henri observed.

“Yes.” Neal kept his eyes on his reading.

“Book iz funneh?”

“Not particularly.”

Henri licked Neal's hand, signaling that he’d like for Neal to scratch him around his ears; Neal obliged. Henri caught Neal's hand with his paw and Neal increased the pressure. After several minutes, Henri nodded off, but Neal kept his hand where it was, cradling his sleeping head.

\----

“Mmm mmm mmph,” Neal groaned as he rolled over on his back in bed. 

Henri squirmed beneath him but did not get up. “U iz heaveh.”

“Sorry,” Neal muttered and turned onto his side, so that he was facing the cat. “You’re under the covers,” Neal observed, his voice scratchy from sleep; he rested a hand on Henri’s back and fought to wake up.

“Iz cold.”

Neal pulled the comforter down and poked his head out into the frigid air of his apartment. “Crap, the heat’s out again – gonna go fix it.” He pushed the covers aside and got out of the bed, padding across the freezing floorboards on bare feet.

“Oh!” he said, returning to the bed to cover Henri back up. “Sorry.” 

Neal rushed off to get the heat started as Henri snuggled into the dark warmth under the comforter where Neal had been lying.

\----

“Henri? You around, honey?”

Henri trotted out from his spot among the shoes in Neal's closet with his tail in the air. When he saw that it was Elizabeth who had called for him, he stopped short in the middle of the apartment.

“Hey,” she said, “there you are. I’m uh –”

“Why U no look at me, Alittlebit?”

“I thought I’d come over and feed you…”

“Iz vereh late. Where Nealz iz?” Henri interrupted her.

Elizabeth knelt down on the floor and sat on her feet. “Neal, he… he might not be coming home tonight, Henri.”

“Where he iz?”

“That’s the thing – they don’t really know. There was a case and Neal was… he was undercover, and they lost track of him.” She held her hands up to him, trying to calm him before he’d even reacted. “Peter and all the FBI are looking for him – he’s going to be found! I just thought I’d come over and feed you, so you wouldn’t be all alone here.”

Henri cocked his head to the side and regarded her for several seconds. “Peter will find heem?”

“Yes, before you know it.” Elizabeth said with conviction.

“Peter will find heem,” Henri repeated to himself

\----

Elizabeth was roused by the door opening; Henri lifted his head from where it was curled under his own tail and they both looked over at the same time, blinking sleep out of their eyes.

“Elizabeth?” Neal said, surprised.

“Thank God you’re back!” she said, standing. “What happened to your face?”

Neal touched the black eye he was sporting and smiled wryly. “You should see the other guy”

“You hit him?”

“No, Peter did when the guy hit me. Can I ask what you’re you doing here?”

“I came to feed Henri and, well, I had to stay.”

Neal's eyes flicked over to the cat, who stood on the couch, slightly behind Elizabeth, staring back at him. “Thank you.”

Aware of some tension in the room, Elizabeth decided to leave. “I should be getting home to my own little family, ha-ha.”

“Peter’ll be a bit longer – paperwork,” Neal told her. “Want to stay for some coffee?”

“It’s awfully late, I’d better go.” She walked over and kissed him on the cheek, then left, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Henri –“ Neal began.

“U iz safe.”

“Yes. I always was. Peter, he – he overreacts sometimes.”

But Henri had already hopped down from the couch and a minute later, Neal could hear him scratching in his litter box.

\----

“Om nom nom.”

Neal woke knowing two things – there was a cat lying between his shoulder blades, and it was grooming his hair. “Henri?” he muttered into his pillow.

“U iz untideh.”

“I can take a shower,” Neal pointed out.

“I cat. I do.”

“I’m not sure that’s all that efficient, buddy.”

“Om nom nom.”

“Fine.” 

Neal lasted all of three minutes before the tugging of the cat tongue at his hair started wigging him out. “That’s enough!” he said, pushing himself up. Henri hopped off of him and then the bed. Neal pushed the covers from himself and sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Henri – what are you doing over there?”

Henri was beside the refrigerator, pawing at the bottom corner of the door. “I get eggs.”

“You want eggs for breakfast?”

“Eggs 4 U.”

“You’re making me breakfast?”

“Eggs iz good.”

“I appreciate it, Henri, but you’re a little short to reach the stove.”

Henri gave up his pawing and sat down, still staring up at the fridge.

“Henri?” 

“I tankful 4 U, Nealz.”

“What?”

“U should know dis. I tankfulls.”

Neal got out of bed, walked over to the kitchen and picked up his pet. “What’s this all about?” he asked, flipping Henri over to cradle him against his chest.

“U haf de warm laps.”

“Um…”

“And de tuna juice, U iz always give 2 me.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m going to eat it.”

“Iz delicious. U do dese tings. 4 me.”

“I do them because I love you and want to make you happy. This is what families do, you know?”

“We iz family.”

Neal held him closer and kissed him between his eyes. “You should know that by now, Henri. Anyway, I’m happy that you don’t take that for granted, and I can appreciate that yesterday was a little scary. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Henri put a paw on each of Neal's ears, effectively hugging him, but the claws he gently unsheathed meant a little more. “U carefull, Nealz.”

“I promise I will take every precaution, Henri, like always. Now – did you really want eggs, or were you just being dramatic?”

“Eggs, yes. Make dem runny.”

“Don’t I always?”


	15. A Very Henri Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri really gets into the Christmas Spirit thing; where he fails is the execushons

**Black Friday**

Neal struggled through his front door with the large shopping bags he carried and leaned against it as if he was bracing it against a foreign intruder from the other side. He sighed mightily.

“Why for U sigh, Nealz?” Henri asked, interrupting his third grooming session of the day. He sat up on the top tier of his cat tree and regarded Neal carefully.

“Black Friday!” Neal gasped. “God, remind me never to do this again!”

Henri blinked. “Nealz – do not do de Black Fridayz again.”

“Thanks, Henri, but I didn’t mean it literally.” Neal walked into the apartment and down the hallway to his walk-in closet. 

“Why for U put de packages on de toppest shelf? U knowz I can’t reach dem,” Henri informed him.

Neal grinned and then bent over to lift his cat into his arms. “That’s the idea, Buddy,” he said, snuggling Henri briefly before heading back to his living room. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Iz prezzies for me?”

“No, for Peter and Elizabeth.”

“Den why you hidez dem?”

“Because you can’t keep a secret to save your life,” Neal said, depositing the cat back on his cat tree and heading over to the stove to make himself a mug of tea. 

“You wound me, Nealz,” Henri said, hopping down and trotting over to him.

“It’s not like there’s not precedent, buddy. Remember El’s birthday present?”

“She like de scarfess.”

“Yes, the 1987 Hermes I found at a thrift store and got for a song – that was my surprise to deliver, Henri.” Neal grabbed a bag of Temptations treats from the cupboard and deposited a pile of them on the floor unprompted. 

“Om nom nom. All I do iz menshon de carriages. Nom nom.”

“Uh-huh.” Neal put the kettle on and dropped a teabag into a mug. 

“What U get 4 me?” Henri insisted. Neal made a show of pressing his lips together. “Den I no tell U what I get 4 U.”

“It’s a deal. You know, when I was a kid, we didn’t have a lot of money. It was just me and my mom, and she said she’d be happy with anything I’d make for her.”

“You make de sushi?”

Neal laughed. “No, but I’d make her drawings and cookies and things,” he replied, then looked reflective. “Guess that’s where I really learned that I loved to cook… huh, never realized it before.”

The kettle soon boiled and Neal made his tea, then took it over to the couch and picked up the book he’d been reading the night before and settled down. Henri sat hunched over his Temptations, not finishing them, thoughtful. “Hrm, make de prezzies,” he said quietly, sitting up and cocking his head as the possibilities seemed endless.

 

**Two weeks later**

“What U do, Alittlebit?”

Henri was spending the weekend at the Burkes’ to visit with his daughter Simone, who lived there. He hopped up onto one of the stools at Elizabeth’s kitchen island and sat down primly.

“Oh, hi Henri – up from your nap?”

“Yes.”

“I’m making Christmas cookies,” she said, rolling the dough she had into a series of balls that she then dipped into a bowl of chopped walnuts. She placed them on a pair of waiting cookie sheets and pressed her thumb into the first set. “These are Neal's favorites.”

“Why for U dent dem?” 

She smiled as Henri rested his front paws on the counter, watching intently. “You put jam inside and then bake them – they’re really good – oh, I almost forgot the apricot jam!” She wiped her hands on a towel and went to the pantry to retrieve the jam that was also Neal's favorite. “Henri!” she gasped when she turned around.

“Yes?” The cat had hopped up onto the kitchen island and was systematically mashing his front, right paw into the center of each of the unformed cookies on the second sheet pan.

“What are you doing?”

“Dese R 4 Nealz. I help.”

“Umm…”

“U fillz wit de jamz. We team up.”

“Jammy pawprints – yay,” Elizabeth said, almost enthusiastically. She was going to have to make sure those didn’t get stored with the others.

 

**Christmas Eve**

“It’s Christmas Eeeeeve!” Simone shrieked with delight, streaking through Neal's door and heading for the tree almost as soon as he’d opened it.

“Merry Christmas!” Elizabeth greeted him with an apologetic smile for the young cat’s overexuberance and gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

Neal just laughed. “Merry Christmas.” 

After several minutes of settling everyone and putting gifts under the tree for their celebration – Moz and June were already in attendance, with Moz acting as bartender and guarding over the egg nog as protectively as a mama bear– they settled in for a pleasant holiday dinner. 

“Time for presents!” Peter said after dinner dishes had been cleared away, and everyone gathered around the small tree in Neal’s living room for their annual gift exchange.

“This one’s for June,” Elizabeth announced, handing her a box that turned out to be an exquisite cashmere sweater from her and Peter.

“Oh my darling, you shouldn't have spent so much, but I’m glad you did!”

“A donation in my name has been made to the Brush Park Home for Children in Detroit,” Moz said. “Suit, you shouldn’t have,” he added, clearly touched.

“Well, anything else I might have gotten you’d have thought was bugged or something,” Peter pointed out.

“An astute observation. Here is your gift.”

Peter unwrapped a very nice bottle of Amarone. “Wow, this must’ve set you back a pretty penny – thanks, Mozzie.”

“Was that mine?” Neal accused, but Moz ignored him. 

“Catneep mousies, I loaf dem!” Simone squealed from Peter’s lap. “Dey are pink. I name dem Pinky!”

Peter laughed. “All of them, Simone?”

“Dey R all my babies!”

Neal grinned, but then his attention was diverted by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into June’s smiling face. “This one’s for you, dear.”

“Really? Thank you.” The gift was large and flat, relatively light. He tore the paper open and saw that it contained a painted canvas. He looked up at June. “Thanks?” He didn’t think it looked like any of the paintings he’d seen around the house.

“Don’t thank me, dear,” she said, moving away and eyeballing Henri, who sat at Neal’s feet with his tail tucked primly around himself. 

Understanding dawned as Neal looked at the canvas again. The paint was bright and layered on very heavily, the figure in it outlined in thick black lines. Splashes of color surrounded the sole object of the portrait – for that was what it was, unmistakably. 

“Is that me?” Neal asked. It might have been, though he wasn’t quite sure. It looked like a man, one that had been crossed with a cat. It had blue eyes and a human-like mouth, but there were pointed ears and the suggestion of a tail. “That’s how you see me?”

“Iz how U R,” Henri said proudly.

Neal frowned appraisingly at it. “Remind me to teach you about Fauvism, Henri.”

Peter, noticing the exchange, leaned over in his chair and snorted. “You call that art?”

Elizabeth got up and wandered over. “I sure do.” She cocked her head as Neal showed it to her more clearly. “You know, Henri, I don’t know if you’ve got plans for another gallery show anytime in the future, but… call me, OK?”

Peter looked at her incredulously. “There are paw prints in the paint,” he pointed out.

“Adds to the overall charm if you ask me,” Moz commented from behind Elizabeth, and Peter rolled his eyes. 

“There’s one more present over here,” June pointed out. “Also for Neal.” She brought him a large box and inside...

“Henri, is this…”

“Is manger scene,” Henri told him proudly. 

Neal lifted the thing out of the box and regarded it carefully. The barn looked like it was crafted from an old square bread basket, but it was the figures inside that were most interesting. “Wow, are… are Mary and Joseph made out of Temptations?”

Henri nodded. 

“And cream cheese,” June pointed out from across the room, a twinkle in her eye. “He’s been stealing from the refrigerator downstairs for days now.”

“My medium iz deliciousnez.”

“Is the baby Jesus a… a _hairball?_ ” Moz asked.

“Oh, but look, honey, it’s wrapped in swaddling clothes,” Elizabeth pointed out.

“Oh my God, are the three kings _dead mice_ ” Peter asked, horrified.

“If they are, he didn’t find them here,” June said indignantly.

“Iz toyz,” Henri assured them.

“Well, they look real,” Peter declared with a shudder.

But Neal just looked down at Henri with a smile on his face. 

\----

Late that night, Neal settled into his couch with a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of Christmas cookies, all lights off except for the tree, and sighed contentedly. Life was good – he was one year away from his sentence being up, he’d spent Christmas Eve with the most important people in his life, and he had a nice buzz on. He felt the couch cushion move as Henri jumped up from the floor. Looking over, he saw the cat wend his way unsteadily toward him.

“ _Hic!_ I drink too much of de nog.”

“That stuff over there? That’s just melted vanilla ice cream, Henri.”

“Iz spiky.”

“OK.” Henri crawled into Neal's lap and curled into a ball, purring. Neal rested a hand on his hindquarters. “Did you have a good Christmas?” he asked.

“I do. Tank U for all de toys and de feather on de stick and de new bed for in de library and de new fud deeshes with my name on and de LitterMaid, Nealz.”

“You’re welcome. And thank you for the manger scene and the wonderful portrait of me. I have to say I was really touched. And it’s really _good._ I guess some of me is rubbing off on you.”

“June help me get de paints and to clean de paos, though iz just watercolors, and no oils.”

“Well, thank goodness for that. I’ll have to get her an extra thank you gift.”

“She iz nice lady and use de rose-flavored lotions on de paos.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want them to dry out. But seriously, Henri, I really, _really_ love my presents, and that you made them with your own paos.”

They beamed at each other, and then Neal took a sip of his hot chocolate. “Mmm, that’s good stuff.”

“U haf de cookies?”

Neal looked down at the plate sitting on the end table beside him. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot about them. These thumbprints El brought are my absolute favorites!” He picked up a cookie and took an appreciative bite.

“You liek?”

Neal nodded and smiled.

“I help make dem too.”

The smile left Neal's face as he suddenly bit into something – a little too extra crunchy. 

“Aww, Henri – _is there cat litter in the cookies?!?_ ”


	16. LOLCat Henri vs. Doge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri makes a new friend and no meme is safe.

“Hey, Diana, how’s it going?” Neal stepped back from the door as he let his friend and co-worker into his apartment. “Who have we here?” he said with surprise, looking down at the white and orange ball of fluff at the end of the leash she held.

Diana rolled her eyes. “My mom’s dog Peaches. I’m sorry I didn’t call first to ask permission, but my mom just showed up at my apartment with her and –“

“It’s no problem,” Neal interrupted her with a smile. “We’re a pet friendly household here.” He gestured out on the terrace where Peter and El already sat, Satchmo at their feet. Henri sat perched on a chaise nearby, pausing in his grooming ritual mid-lick to regard the newcomers with a jaundiced eye. A toy mouse with a feathered tail shot by, announcing Simone’s presence. 

Diana looked relieved. “Good, cuz I was really looking forward to brunch today.” Neal took her jacket as she went to join the others.

“She’s darling,” Elizabeth said to Diana as Peaches and Satchmo smelled each other’s butts. “What breed is she?”

“A shiba inu,” Diana replied. “They’re a Japanese breed.” She sat and pulled the dog closer to her, told her to sit. “She’s really a sweet thing, doesn’t give me too much trouble.”

“Bery fluffeh,” Simone observed from her position beneath Peter’s chair, shyly peeking out at Peaches.

“Oh yes, very,” Diana replied with a huge smile for the young cat. “And she is friendly to kitties, so don’t you worry, little one.” Simone dared to poke her head out but then retreated until she was out of sight.

“Well, now that we’re all here, we can bust out the bubbly. Who wants a mimosa?” Neal called out to them from the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of champagne from the fridge. Everyone raised a hand and he grabbed four glasses from the counter. As he was removing the wire cage from the bottle’s cork, Peter’s phone rang.

“Uh-oh, it’s Jones,” Peter observed, pulling it from a pocket. “Yeah, Jones?” he answered. “Really… yes…. No, I want to be there, and I’m sure Di does too – I’m with her now. Uh-huh…. Yes… All right, see you downtown in fifteen.” He hung up and looked at everyone with a regretful expression. “We might have to take this brunch to go,” he said regretfully. “Jones said we got a hot lead on the Pederson case – looks like the old man’s finally back in the country.”

Both Neal and Diana looked at him eagerly – it felt like they’d been working this case forever, and any progress was good news. “A solid lead, Boss?” she asked hopefully.

“Sounds like it.” He rose and looked at Elizabeth. “We should get to the office as soon as possible, Hon. Sorry to leave you in the lurch.”

She shrugged. “It’s all part of the deal,” she said, getting up to find Simone’s cat carrier. “I’ll see you at home then?”

He handed her his keys. “Sure, we’ll all drive down in Diana’s car.”

Minutes later, they were all ready to go when Diana stopped short. “Damn it, I forgot about Peaches – we’ll never make it in time if we have to go to my place.”

“You can leave her here,” Neal said. “Henri’ll look out for her, won’t you, buddy?” Neal called to Henri, who sat staring out at the city below from a perch atop one of the gargoyles’ heads. 

“I responsibuhl kitteh,” he replied.

“See?”

Diana looked dubious, but glancing at Peter, who seemed anxious to leave, she nodded at last. “OK.” She leaned over and disconnected Peaches’ leash, then had her sit. “Be good for your big sis, huh?” 

Peaches gazed up at her adoringly. “Much good. Very doge,” she agreed.

“OK, let’s go,” Diana said to her gawping co-workers.

\----

“What R U doingk?” Henri asked, sitting himself down abruptly on the floor and wrapping his tail around his feet.

“Such kitty. Many smells. Wow.”

“Iz no kitteh to smellz de backsidez. Iz rude.”

“Very house. Such amaze.”

“U would liek a tour? Come wiz me.”

Henri trotted across Neal's apartment toward the long hallway adjacent to the kitchen. “Hear is de baffroom if U needz to maek,” he said, indicating the litter box. “De leeter iz 4 multiple kittehs, so U iz welcome.” 

“Such convenient. Many carpet?”

“Only in emergencehs.”

They continued on to Neal’s walk-in closet. “Hear iz where de best climbingks happen,” Henri informed Peaches, hopping up onto the shelf beneath where all of Neal's jackets hung. He scrambled up the back of a tweed blazer until he reached the rod all the clothes hung on, then draped himself across it. “Dis iz good 4 observing de hallway.”

“Very shoes. Such diversion.”

“Dey R good for storing de Temtashons,” Henri agreed. “Tho no for de hairballs, dis maek 4 de yellings.”

Peaches leaned over and picked up one of Neal's suede bucks with her mouth. “Wow.”

“I had not considered dem 4 toy,” Henri observed. 

“Very feeling. Good mouth,” Peaches replied around the shoe, weighing it in her mouth before finally setting it down, saliva glistening on the outside. She then proceeded to further explore the closet, sniffing with interest around everything, knocking over Neal's shoeshine kit in her progress. She nosed open a few drawers and snuffled around Neal's t-shirts and underwear. “Much clothes. Very variety.”

“Yes, de peoples have many clothes. Iz compensashons 4 feelingks of inadequacy and perceived lack of de status.”

“Such fur. Make better.”

“I agree. If dey had de furz dey would no have 2 express feelingks of secondary inferioriteh wiz ultimately meaningkless and unsatisfactoreh consumerismz.”

Peaches nodded in agreement, then left the closet, intent on exploring Neal's apartment further.

“Such panorama. Very view. So excite,” Peaches said to Henri once he’d caught up to her. She stood with her front paws on the balustrade, looking out over the city, tail wagging excitedly.

“Iz nice view,” Henri agreed, hopping up to walk along the edge toward her. He looked down into her brown eyes. “But dere is smoky sallmone.”

“Wow.”

Henri hopped down and went over to the table, jumping up in one fluid movement. He pushed aside the napkin covering up the basket of bagels Neal and the others had abandoned in their hurry to leave and, hooking his paw around one, flipped it up and onto the floor. 

“So poppyseed. Much gratification,” Peaches said as she settled down with the bagel between her paws, gnawing at it with gusto.

Henri pawed at the plastic wrap that covered the small plate of thinly-sliced lox. “Frustratingk,” he muttered, his claws not able to really shred the stuff adequately and getting stuck to his paw pads. “Gah.”

“Doge,” Peaches told him, rising. “Much assistance.”

“Tank U.” 

Henri swiped the plastic dish to the side until it fell to the ground at Peaches’ feet. She tore at the wrap with her teeth until half the dish was exposed. She nosed it over in Henri’s direction and opened her mouth in a happy grin. “Very cat. Enjoy.”

Henri jumped to the ground and settled down to a slice or two of lox, Peaches lying down beside him to enjoy her bagel.

“Om nom nom.”

“Very teamwork.”

\----

“U liek 2 play nao?” Henri asked Peaches as he finished cleaning his face after their impromptu brunch.

“Such active.”

Henri pranced up to her, paw held high and batting at her lightly.

“Wow.”

With that as his cue, he streaked away and back into the apartment. Peaches gave a happy bark and chased after, her paws slipping when they made contact with the hardwoods inside, but though she stumbled, she soon caught up with the cat. Henri jumped up onto the kitchen counter, running across the sink towards the fridge to hop on top of it. On his way, he knocked over a quart of orange juice, which fell to the floor, its ill-secured cap flying off and juice glugging all over the place.

“Oopsies and daisies,” Henri said, surveying the damage.

“Such orange. Very mess,” Peaches observed, panting. But then she got down on her chest, her tail wagging in the air. “Much chase?”

Henri nodded in silent agreement, jumping off the fridge and heading across the apartment towards the couch, Peaches close behind. They chased each other around the place, across the couch, over and under the table and the bed (only one chair got knocked over), and back, until Peaches’ shoulder brushed against Neal's easel that had a half-finished portrait of June on it. The easel teetered, but did not fall, though some brushes did clatter to the floor.

“Oh noes, we can’t knock over de paintingks,” Henri told her gravely.

“Very regret.”

“We wrestle instead.”

Henri and Peaches then commenced rolling around on the floor, squirming and mouthing and pawing at each other for the next fifteen minutes. When they finally stopped, exhausted and with Peaches panting, they made their way to Neal's couch, jumped up and settled in for a well-earned afternoon nap.

“Such LOLCat. Much friend,” Peaches murmured into Henri’s fur as he curled up beside her, his head resting on his tail. Henri just purred until they fell asleep. 

\----

Henri was roused by the sound of the front door opening. 

“Well, that was a colossal waste of a Sunday afternoon,” Neal was saying.

“You still have champagne?” Diana asked.

“I’ve got better – I’ve got vodka,” Neal replied, then stopped dead in his tracks, surveying the disaster area his apartment had become: the spilled juice, the knocked-over furniture, the terrace door that hung ajar.

“Henri!” Neal exclaimed. 

“Peaches!” Diana said, joining the chorus. “What did you do?”

Peaches hopped off the couch with a sheepish expression, followed by Henri. They both trotted up to the two humans.

“Well, I hope at least you had fun!” Neal added, exasperated, hands on his hips and glaring down at the two of them. “What have you got to say for yourselves?”

“Very doge. Such diversions,” Henri replied.

“Wow,” both he and Peaches added, in unison.

**Author's Note:**

> Tank U 4 UR tiemz.


End file.
